


"Perfect Imperfection"

by helenkacan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: romancingmcshep, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenkacan/pseuds/helenkacan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Semi-AU Characters:</b> Rodney McKay is a brilliant though unorthodox photographer. John Sheppard is a former pilot with the USAF, who is trying to find a new purpose for living after having been medically discharged. See how their worlds collide. Other SGA characters in AU or canon roles according to author's whim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Perfect Imperfection"

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks:** To the amazing person who offered this brilliant prompt!  
>  **Time-line:** Semi-AU, Current day.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine (through no fault of my own).  
>  **Author's Prerogative:** I know nothing about _proper_ aka classic photography, except for ... um ... lenses and hearing "F stops" (whatever they are) so I won't pretend. Use your imagination. Because Rodney IS brilliant.  
>  **Dedication:** Written on the spur of the moment as my second fic for the 2015 "Romancing McShep" fest. Yay!

~::~

Rodney McKay - _the_ Rodney McKay - mutters under his breath as he strides through the barn converted at extravagant expense into his photography studio. He's hyper-aware of the more hesitant steps of the tall man behind him, but can't say anything until John Sheppard has had a good look around.

Rodney's been blocked for weeks, unable to focus on anything but the man whose face and body are plastered on nearly every available vertical surface. Rodney's even hung one gigantic blowup from the rafters, so the bottom edge flutters in the breeze when the windows are open, the subtle shift bringing life to the still image.

Rodney hears the footsteps stop, then shuffle awkwardly. He can imagine how odd it must feel for John to be staring up at his own face – the face, framed by rakishly spiky dark hair - that is everything Rodney's ever sought to capture on film. He knows he's damn lucky to have gotten the man to hear him out, let alone show up in person. But, then, Rodney got lucky, even if luck is something he's scorned in the past. Though not now, not with John finally in his presence.

~::~

The face and body belonged to an American vet whose image accompanied a random blog post about a Memorial Day parade protest. Well, Teyla Emmagen wasn't really random but rather a well known anti-war activist with an unusual perspective. Rodney found out that she and her people, the Athosians (a name unfamiliar to him though, as a transplanted Canadian, he thought he should be excused from knowing the minutia of American history), were really into this ancestral spirit worship of the American soil and against having Americans (inheritors of the ancestral soil) being sent off to yet another war. So her blog was in some ways familiar and way off in outer space in others.

Rodney didn't really care what she stood for (yes, yes, war bad, tree pretty, clean water very good) as long as he could find out who the man was, seen straining to rise from his wheelchair, propped up on crutches, staring at a plane in the sky. The naked look of yearning, of betrayal, and of ultimate hopelessness nearly did Rodney in. Enough to _have_ to find him and help him by connecting the transcendent face to the broken body. With his camera, he was positive he could do anything.

He couldn't believe he'd become so emotional in his midlife. You'd think he was his hippy-dippy younger sister Jeannie, still living in Canada (Lalaland North, aka Vancouver). Whom he ignored as much as possible until she reeled him in with a guilt trip about neglecting his niece and twin nephews (who weren't even out of diapers!). She and her husband Colin ... Colm ... well _some_ "K" sounding name ran an organic café where young children were actually welcome. Rodney shuddered every time he thought of it. He hoped they used _lots_ of disinfectant on a regular basis.

Rodney was also familiar with his reputation. Yes, he was an asshole ... but he was a genius asshole. He was beyond world-famous for his photography, his pictures combining reality with an overlay of the fantastic. He could already imagine how he would photograph the object of his obsession. But, first, he had to find out who this man was. So, he'd had three cups of coffee before sitting down and sending an e-mail to Teyla via her blog.

Rodney did his best to sound _reasonable_ and non-insulting, though wasn't under any illusion that he'd been successful. He included a link to his own bio, so she wouldn't think he was a stalker (though, psychologically, he probably did fit the profile), as he asked how he could reach the man whose photograph was featured so prominently on her popular blog followed by millions.

Thirty minutes later, he heard the ping of an incoming message. Teyla's reply seemed a little stilted and formal (not unlike the words she used in her blog, he noted). She regretted that she did not know the man's name, but could forward his enquiry to a (former) Lt. Aiden Ford who had taken the photograph.

Rodney's spirits soared. This was better than he'd expected - a promising reply in less than an hour. Still trying to be on his best behaviour, he thanked her and requested the e-mail to be forwarded.

He didn't get a reply for another three days. But, armed with the name of her contact, he managed to find some _interesting_ information on Lt. Ford. He certainly was no Athosian, not by birth nor marriage. In fact, he was the grandson of a prosperous couple, Emily and Jake Ford, who'd raised him from an early age after his parents had been killed in a private plane crash.

Despite having had a privileged childhood, young Aiden wanted nothing more than to be in the Armed Forces, just like his dad. He joined the Marines, rising in the ranks until he reached Lieutenant. Rodney could admire that in a man who was well off, yet didn't use the family fortune to avoid military service as some really asshole politicians had for several decades. Rodney was inwardly pleased to be famous and wealthy enough himself that he could refuse commissions from the most pompous 1%-ers. The last thing he wanted was to stare at their generally ugly faces. Or preserve them. No matter how much money they offered him.

There was a recent online photo of the young man. He'd been injured by a ricocheting bullet that had struck him in the eye. Yet, he still had a form of sight after he'd been airlifted back home – and his grandparents had taken charge upon his arrival, insisting on a very pricy telescopic implant, something an underfunded VA could have never provided.

It figured that Aiden would have become disillusioned by his post-service life, so Rodney thought he could understand why Aiden had joined Teyla's group. But that wasn't the extent of Aiden's activities. He'd urged his grandparents and their friends to start a philanthropic foundation intended to provide rehabilitative care at several centres across the nation to veterans whose injuries were beyond the scope of what VA offered.

The more Rodney read about Aiden, the more he admired his principles and drive. He just hoped he could convince the young man to allow him to contact the man in the photograph.

Rodney finally had a reply, but not a direct answer. Instead, Aiden had bombarded him with many questions about his intentions. Rodney could tell that Aiden was protecting his friend. So he settled down to try to reassure the young man, one answer at a time.

~::~

Rodney is brought back to the present by the sound of approaching footsteps. He hears the slight imperfection of John's gait and marvels at the work done by the surgeons at the advanced rehab hospital funded by the E&J Ford Foundation. By rights, Rodney figures all John _should_ have expected was to be walking slowly on tight, burn-cramped muscles with a pronounced limp, relying on a cane or crutches. But his legs had been painstakingly rehabilitated. Though he'd performed a successful rescue that had saved three of his men in Afghanistan, the only fatalities had been his chopper ... and his military career. He could have accepted a desk job, but couldn't bear to be reminded of why and how he'd been deprived of the freedom of the sky.

Rodney glances up just in time to see John rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the fingers of the other worrying at the hem of his black turtleneck.

"Look, Mr. McKay--"

John's hesitant words are cut off by Rodney. "Please, I'm 'Mr.' to the outside world, but not here in my studio. 'Rodney' will do."

"Okay. Rodney. I think I can see why you'd be attracted to my face, but that's all I have to offer. Nobody's going to pay good money to see what's below the neck or, worse, thighs down, with the burn scars on my legs. Even with all the good work the Ford docs did. If the photos sell, I don't want lt to be out of pity."

Rodney's hands are in flight even before he speaks. "You're right. I am attracted to your face. There's something in your eyes that I want to capture ... to allow others to see exactly what you see. Personally, I wouldn't care if you were a cyborg below the neck. But you're not. You're real and I think the world should see who you are. What you've been through ... and your potential."

John grimaces. "Potential. Riiiiight. Without flinching in disgust."

Rodney's voice gentles as he waves a hand around the studio. "You've seen samples of my work, observed how I entwine reality with fantasy." His voice becomes more assured. "You think I can't do the same with you as my model ... my inspiration?"

John's face cycles through several emotions, from shock, to puzzlement, finally settling into a youthful curiosity. "Can you really do that?"

Rodney's smile is assured and triumphant as he answers, "Just trust me."

John doesn't know why, but he does.

~::~

John's available and willing to work long hours with Rodney every day, but Rodney has to limit how much time he actually spends photographing John before he comes down with headaches from eye strain. He's set up storyboards around the studio, each one with its own description, drawings and digital prints of objects. He'll refer to them dozens of times a day, often adding incomprehensible scribbles in the margins.

Even if John isn't under the intense glare (both Rodney's and from the lenses), Rodney likes to have him around at his disposal. With Rodney paying John a ridiculous amount of money to be his model and moving John into cozy quarters over the garage, John has no objections. It's not as if he had anywhere to go. He has the run of Rodney's house attached to the barn/studio. When he's not lying on the huge couch, staring out the windows at the sky, he's listening to some Cash or picking out a tune on Rodney's baby grand. John uses Rodney's treadmill (and nags Rodney about using it, too). He eats Rodney's food – well, they eat together - most of it freshly-prepared and delivered daily: from Bento Miko (named for its diminutive creator Miko Kusanagi), whose black-lacquered boxes contain exquisite sushi, sashimi, tofu squares and fish cakes, along with all the traditional accompaniments; to Chuck's Pancake Palace, in reality a food truck where the griddle doesn't begin to heat until the truck is parked and Chuck (who's also the local bookie-on-wheels) has pulled an apron over his head; and all the way back to The Sunshine Diner, where perky owner Jennifer, snarky head chef Laura, and boyish-giant grill boss Ronon produce juicy burgers and crispy fries, with hearty soups and salads, on demand. They're not the only food sources and John has yet to become bored with the selection.

John wanders around the studio each day, being sucked into the weird and wonderful world of which Rodney is the master. John is relieved that stripping in front of Rodney still doesn't feel creepy or the fact that wearing only flesh-coloured briefs makes some of the worst scars on the back of his calves more prominent. Perhaps the fact that Rodney's wearing a white lab coat is reassuring as it offers a psychological separation. John can relate after all of the surgeries and years of physio. He's relieved that he was already in shock and mostly numb, so didn't feel the excruciating pain as the metal around him burned and twisted. He'd already numbed his memory by the time the mandatory psych sessions had begun. But at least he didn't associate white coats with Evan Lorne, who wore shades of blue and tan and slid his bare feet into sandals.

He's also grateful for Rodney's initial cyborg speech. It tells him that Rodney's not a gimp-stalker. That, despite the ghost of attraction he feels from the other man, it's primarily aesthetic as well as discreetly sexual. John's not shy to acknowledge it, but figures that Rodney won't jeopardize John's participation in the project by making an inappropriate advance. John can't explain it, but finds Rodney's blunt speech combined with a hidden undercurrent of desire refreshing.

Today's shoot involves a weird-looking Art _Freako_ gravity lounge chair. The first time Rodney tilts it back, John's not ready and it shows. Somehow, Rodney's right there – in his face – capturing the initial startled expression with the camera. Then come the directions: focused; worried; determined; relieved; relaxed; even dozing off. John can only imagine what kind of scenario Rodney has in his head to merge his emotions to an inanimate object.

There are many other weird photo ops, but John does what Rodney asks for, accompanied by impatient finger snapping – each time. Even when Rodney finds John in the transparent hot tub and switches the jets off, asking John to submerge until his head is underwater and he's kneeling at the bottom. Rodney works lightning-quick, so John's lack of air is only momentary.

After that, Rodney follows John to the shower and photographs him behind the showerhead, then fully under it, finally walking forward until the water is cascading down on his hair and back. He asks John to repeat the sequence while Rodney films him from behind.

Each day is completely different so John has no idea of what to expect. Some days, Rodney has John pull on clothing – only black – and they go for a long walk in the secluded woods. Rodney films John crouching in the grass or leaning back against a tree trunk, filtered rays of the sun casting rippling shadows over his face. Then, they do it again, this time at night during a full moon.

They're hanging out together most evenings, so John's only using his quarters for sleeping. They play video games; John can't believe how vicious Rodney can be. When Rodney learns of John's degree from Stanford, he actually moans. And insists they play chess. That night, John is relieved he's not sleeping in the house, because ... well, his own moans when he comes are kinda really loud.

John had already scoped out the extent of Rodney's DVD collection, so they have another source of entertainment. The first time John let out his braying laugh, Rodney stared in open-mouthed astonishment. And then dragged John back to the studio to film him cracking up at the corniest jokes possible.

John sleeps better than he can remember after that. It's been far too long since he had reason to laugh. Even though his body had been repaired, he'd locked his psyche down. Who knew that emotionally tone-deaf Rodney would be the one to unlock it?

~::~

As the weeks fly by, John's participation in the photographic process begins to dwindle. It seems Rodney's taken all the pictures of John that he needs. Then, John is banished from the studio entirely. Whenever Rodney has to tweak something, it's done outdoors only.

John can't help but feel sad that his professional involvement with Rodney is coming to an end. He can't imagine what he'll do after the exhibition ... where he'll go. He has his trust fund, but that's just money. Won't give him a purpose for living.

There's also the anticipation of "what if" between him and Rodney that they've yet to address. John wants there to be more but refuses to be the one to talk about it. Hey, it's Rodney's turf and Rodney was the one who'd hired him. John knows he's being as stubborn as a mule but, then, Rodney tells him he _is_ a mule when he laughs. So, ha!

~::~

John buttons his shirt with shaking fingers. He doesn't know why he's so nervous. It's just a photography exhibition. He huffs with feigned scorn. Sure, just a photography exhibition that has his body splayed all over it. His body's nearly naked, but he can't imagine how much more his face will reveal, admitting the extent of his trust in Rodney.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror. He's decided to dress up for the occasion ... for Rodney. In his black suit, grey shirt and paler silver grey silk tie, he looks quietly confident.

When he enters the partitioned foyer to the exhibition space, Rodney's already there waiting, wearing a charcoal suit that outlines his broad shoulders and defines his ass. John checks it out twice before admiring the rest of the outfit. While John looks quietly elegant, Rodney looks smug and superior in his plum shirt with matching plum tie.

Rodney takes John's hand to lead him into the exhibition space. This is the first time that Rodney has ever touched John in a non-photographic capacity. John shivers, the tips of his ears pinking. Rodney quirks an eyebrow, without saying a word.

But, then, John doesn't have the capacity to evaluate anything other than Rodney's stunning photographs.

He's walking through an upright circle filled with flowing blue water. It's a series of shots from different angles. John thinks it's cool to see how Rodney used those shower scenes, even if he doesn't know what it means.

Then there's the freaky chair, even more freaky when covered with a glowing blue pattern separated by silver veins. Rodney's overlaid the colours on John's body, beginning with a pale blue on John's upper chest and arms, then deepening over the rest of his body until it seems to dissolve into the chair.

The hot tub has been turned into an aquarium, with more vivid blue water and fish all around him. John's wide open eyes and raised eyebrows punctuate the fact that he's not in his natural habitat.

Rodney's turned the outdoor shots into steamy jungles. John feels sweat forming in a Pavlovian response.

Then, finally, it's just John and his body. The first series shows only his face, wistful gaze stretching far away into a clear sky. Some shots have planets in the distance. The second series has him sitting on a dock in the twilight with his back to the camera, a paisley maroon pattern meandering delicately down his right side.

The last few are of him entirely nude. He'd trusted Rodney when he'd stripped off the briefs and lain belly down onto the soft cream blanket. In the first pose, his head was raised, his back bowed, the camera focused above the waist. With each successive shot, Rodney had zoomed out, revealing more of John's body, though using a fadeout technique below the knees.

The last one takes John's breath away. It's funny that's the one where he's not even conscious. Rodney must have stood on a ladder to get the shot, because it's from overhead. John is asleep, head pillowed on his folded arms; his body lax, his muscles loose.

Everything is laid bare, but he hardly notices the scars on the back of his calves, the one on the right creeping up onto his thigh. They exist, but they don't define him. All it took was a pushy, arrogant Canadian to point it out to him, with the world about to see as well.

John's now aware that Rodney's been trailing after him and is hovering behind him. His anxiety is leeching from his body even if he's wearing a gorgeous confidence-boosting suit.

John's speechless. "Uh...."

Rodney frowns as his arms begin to flail about. "Oh, God. You hate them, don't you? I'm sorry-- I thought I was doing the right thing."

John has to shut Rodney up, so he does the first thing that comes to his mind, grabbing him by the upper – ooh nice, solid – arms and kissing him.

When they separate, Rodney lifts hesitant fingers to slide slowly against his lips. "You-you?"

John can't help but smile. "Yes. Me-me."

Rodney whooshes out a lungful of air. "Oh, thank God. I thought I'd been imagining it. Even if I do have an impeccable imagination, it's not reliable when it comes to ... _stuff_."

"So ... stuff?"

"And other things."

"I guess I fall into one of those categories."

Rodney's back into his more smug look. "You fall into every one of my categories."

John blinks. Oh. So it's not just lust, then. But, as much as he'd like to continue this particular conversation, the guests are about to arrive. "I'd love to show you how well my categories mesh with yours, but you have a show to open." After a gentle kiss on Rodney's cheek, John spins him around and propels him in the direction of the entrance that is currently secured by a velvet rope.

From one second to the next, Rodney is transformed from shy soon-to-be-lover into his normally brilliant superstar persona!

~::~

John doesn't know what to make of the premiere of the exhibition. He can understand why there are plenty of rich and influential people there (British Ambassador Elizabeth Weir for one), though he can tell Rodney weeded out the crass ones (he can imagine his pompously pretentious father fuming not to have received an exclusive invite). He spots Richard Woolsey who's _still_ trying to get Rodney to show at MOMA. Then he's introduced to Radek Zelenka who'd lived in Antarctica for a year, photographing nothing but ice, snow and sky. John thinks he could have been happy there. It's all so pure. Plus who didn't like penguins – real ones, not animated.

He's been left mostly on his own. Rodney is his own whirlwind, gathering up people like random trees, accepting their compliments before spitting them out as flotsam. A few people have approached John to offer polite remarks. Otherwise he's been left alone to wander off which he does, ending up where the refreshments are. Miko is the exclusive caterer for tonight's function. He doesn't escape her wagging finger when she spots him chasing down some sublime sashimi with a beer. He dips his head bashfully and shrugs. It seems that even imported beer doesn't meet Miko's standards.

He's been enjoying himself until he spots General Jack O'Neill striding across the space, a couple of Colonels in his wake - a woman with short blonde hair and a man with brown hair. Of course, he remembers the General. But that was _then_ and he has no active connections to the Air Force, so why....

They've cornered him. John resists saluting, though his fingers are twitching. This is not a military function, he reminds himself. The General smirks at him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulders.

"Sheppard. You're looking well."

John tries not to squirm under the hand. "Thank you, sir. The docs did a great job and I've had a lot of rest." He inhales deeply and releases. Finally, _finally_ , the hand drops away.

O'Neill's eyes do a quick up-and-down over his body. "Perhaps you might consider doing some real work now?"

John's jaw clenches as he tries to avoid grinding his teeth. "Real work, sir? You know I can't fly in combat and I won't be chained to a desk."

O'Neill looks thoughtful. He reaches into a pocket and tosses an egg-sized oval in John's direction.

As soon as John's caught it, it lights up and projects a revolving image of Earth. "Whoa. Did I do that?"

O'Neill doesn't even look fazed. "Think 'off' at it."

John obeys and the image disappears. He hands the inert oval – somewhat reluctantly – back to the General who hides it.

"What if I told you that you could fly experimental aircraft as a test pilot?"

"If you weren't a General, sir, I might have to say you're crazy."

"Not crazy, Sheppard. Just have friends who are-– say, Carter, would you call Thor unusual?"

The woman – so her name is Carter – smiles and nods. "That would be a yes, sir."

O'Neill smirks again. "See, I was right. Unusual friends who have some cool gadgets and aircraft."

John's still unconvinced. With his medical history, he doesn't know why O'Neill would be interested in him. "Sir, I can't pull any Gees. My legs might look all right, but the docs predicted I could never fly except in a commercial airliner."

"How strong is your mind?"

John screws up his face. What does that mean? "Uh ... Rodney and I have been playing a lot of chess and he's been torturing me with Prime/Not Prime lately."

"So, can you keep up with McKay?"

John nods. "Most of the time I win at chess."

O'Neill waves his arm dismissively. "You'll do just fine. Which I'd already guessed, considering how you made the doohickey light up." He pats his pocket knowingly.

John is still unconvinced as well as confused but has to jump at any chance to fly again, even if he doesn't believe such an aircraft exists, one that won't damage his body. "I guess I can give it a try, then. There's nothing holding me back here." That's a bald-faced lie and John knows it. Perhaps "nothing" wasn't accurate. Because Rodney wasn't "nothing". But John doesn't know how he can have both flying and Rodney in his life.

To complicate his life and swirling emotions, Rodney walks up to him. He doesn't seem to be surprised at the military presence. Is it John's imagination or does Rodney glare at Carter? Interesting. Must be some story behind it.

"O'Neill."

"McKay."

"So has he agreed yet?"

"In principle. I was just about to have him sign the confidentiality agreement. Mitchell, hand it over."

John stares at the agreement that's been removed from a briefcase, then at O'Neill's face, finally at Rodney's. "Look, I don't know what kind of twisted game you're all playing, but this makes me sick." He tries to sidle out of the corner, but Rodney's hand on his arm stops him.

"John, this is no game. Please, just sign the agreement, and then we'll tell you everything. Isn't it worth it to be able to fly again?"

Fuck. That would be one of those categories ... where Rodney's figured out John, inside and out. He nods curtly.

"Why don't we move into the house? There should be enough room around the dining table." After whispering something to Miko, Rodney leads them into the connecting passage.

John is the last one through, both impulsively impatient yet reluctant to find out what's happening. When he's seated at the table, he flips through page after page of legal gobbledygook and, for once, wishes he had one of the family's legal retainers to go over it, line by line. But, then, he looks at Rodney. Who smiles back. Oh. He knows and he's not disturbed by it. John flips right to the last page, picks up the pen and signs it with a flourish. He's committed himself to whatever happens.

~::~

Epilogue:

"Hi, honey. I'm home."

Rodney turns at the intrusion and glares at his husband. "Sorry, I don't have dinner on the table, _dear_ , but I've been busy-busy-busy slaving over this hot console all day long."

They're not alone in the spherical pop-up hut, one of many designated as labs on P4X 279, but that doesn't prevent John from sliding over to whisper in Rodney's ear. "Mmmm. I could – you know – help you with that. Bend you over the console."

Rodney's already turning red. "Ah, perhaps we might discuss it later. At dinner. Say 1900."

"You know where to find me." John strolls out of the science hut and heads toward their shared quarters, a smaller prefabricated hut with private bathroom. It's not much but, then, does it really matter how opulent their bedroom is when they're on another planet in the Milky Way? And he'd already been on two other planets with his team (yes, he has a team!) the last few days. For one thing, going through the Stargate was a lot easier than getting wet in the shower.

John's still wrapping his head around his new life – and it sure is _new_. He couldn't believe that Rodney also had Physics degrees and was a genius in that field, too. He'd been working – undercover – in advance of declassification of the Stargate Project. What better way to get people accustomed to the alien or unexplained than through art that would turn out to be real and not merely fantasy a few years down the road. Though the occasional intelligent SF show on TV helped.

John thanks his – now – lucky stars that he had been injured. Without that life-changing incident, he would have never met Teyla or Aiden, never been photographed, never been introduced to Rodney. Rodney who'd been in a burnout himself, needing fresh ideas to fulfill himself in photography before he could return to science.

Rodney inspired him to live and love; now John's busy inspiring Rodney in all the categories that matter. He's also the most reliable lightswitch they have and he loves knowing what something is before anybody else. John still hasn't found an aircraft he can pilot, but knows it'll be out there ... somewhere. He doesn't need to flip a coin. It's the feeling he has in his bones, just a hop, skip and jump over a puddle.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt 88:** (from 2015) Rodney is a photographer who has a reputation for being lousy with people but a genius with the lens. When a photo of John Sheppard caught unaware goes viral, Rodney seeks him and pleads with him to become his model, but John wants no part of it, having sustained severe burns to his body after his helicopter went down in Afghanistan. Rodney makes love to John with his camera, proving to John, and to the world, how beautiful he is.


End file.
